


Simple

by pipelliot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, F/M, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:44:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipelliot/pseuds/pipelliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin knew that Arthur wouldn't be his forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted over at the Kink Meme under the [prompt:](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/31491.html?thread=32402691#t32402691) _"it was more convenience and lust than affection and love. Arthur just realized it too late."_  
>  I've edited it a little, but I'm still not entirely happy. However, a very lovely anon posted a companion piece to this over at the Meme- it's called "[Complicated](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/31491.html?thread=32959747#t32959747)" (*giggles*) and I really really like it and I think you would too.

Merlin knew that he had been some kind of thrill. That for all Arthur complained about him, it was a rush to be denied, to be called a name, to be fought back. Merlin didn't take any nonsense, had no regard for Arthur’s title or any other. And Merlin and Arthur had seen things together-had experienced terrible adventures that they would never experience with anyone else in the world- and that was something special, he thought. That was something.

And Merlin- Merlin was something new. He was new and he was fresh and he upset the monotonous succession that was Arthur's life and the confusion- see, Arthur had always been a sucker for adventure. Excitement and a little bit of lust coursed through Arthur’s veins because for all the maturity and lessons he'd had drummed into him since birth, for all he was proper, he was still young and a little bit like a caged animal, if Merlin was honest. Just bursting to get out, to explore. And see, Merlin- he was the first convenient prey he happened to lay his gleaming eyes upon.

Except that's not fair, and Merlin knows that. Arthur wasn't an animal. He never took advantage of Merlin. He was young. And Arthur, for all he was brave and quick tempered, he held Merlin's wrist in too tight a hold with shaking fingers, all innocent wide eyes and sheepish smiles and could he? Would that be okay?

And Merlin, for all he was grand and for all he was destined to be- he was young, too. 

See, the thing about Merlin was that he loved and hoped with all that he was, his heart on both sleeves and just about everything else. And see, Merlin- for all the secrets he kept and all the lies he told he was just as desperate to have them found out, for someone to look past what he didn't show and maybe love him just a little bit too.

So Merlin- with eyes just as wide and a smile just a little sadder, he nodded, and said that yes, he supposed he may. And he was called an idiot and was granted the absolute sweetest press of lips on his, sweating palms holding his face either side, tilting it just the slightest bit downwards. And when they stopped smiling into each others mouths it grew a little more desperate, a little more frantic. Fumbled and messy and maybe a little bit awkward, both shaking as though it weren't even the middle of summer. And Merlin- he let himself believe, because he was young, and that was who he was.

 

If Merlin were a bitter man, he'd say that Gwen came along all round curves and glowing eyes and soft skin.

But Merlin knows that she was always there. She always had a listening a ear, a shoulder to cry on, all entirely warm smiles and kind eyes and the fullest heart. You might not have noticed her all of the time, but she was there. At first with shy smiles as she passed you in the hallways, sheets perfectly pressed and folded in her arms. And later, she'd welcome you into her home with a peck on the cheek, and she'd make you laugh, and she'd ask if you'd like to come pick flowers with her, and you'd say of course and she'd always took one into your neckerchief before saying goodbye.

And see, Gwen- she never had any secrets, and she didn't tell lies to those she loved or anyone else. What you saw was what you got, so they’d say. And when she told Arthur he was wrong, Arthur would take a step back, shocked, but with a twinkle in his eye because who would've thought? Beautiful, shy, awkward Guinevere was also brave and honest and wise.

And Merlin, he could see how Arthur was confused, and he could see how he hated himself a little bit for it, too.

Because, see, Arthur- honest and always noble Arthur- what he felt for Merlin was real, it was, you had to believe him. He'd thought he'd never feel that way about another person in his life. And he didn't understand how this could have happened so easily, if at all. And Merlin could see the tears, and the frustration and genuine confusion in his eyes was what kept Merlin from breaking right there on the spot.

But Merlin, he wasn't a saint. And knowing the inevitable all along didn't really make anything any better. Not at all. 

So Merlin watched him. He watched Arthur pace, and he watched him pull at his hair, and he saw the dark rings under his eyes, the jutted pout he'd teased so often, and he saw the worry lines etched along his perfect features. Because see, first and foremost, Merlin was Arthur’s best friend and the person who knew him most. 

So he stood silent and he watched. And he saw Arthur for who he was. And he hurt.

But when Arthur finally collapsed against the door, knees pulled to his chest and head cradled in his arms, he looked so incredibly small. And so Merlin, he held him close, he held him impossibly close and he told him to hush, and that it was okay. He wiped his thumbs across Arthur’s wet cheekbones and he wanted to tell him more, that it wasn't his fault, that Merlin would be fine. But Merlin- he wasn't half the man he wished he was, or that the legends foretold. So he held Arthur close, and he almost kissed his hair, and he almost told him these things, but he felt like his very world was being torn from him, truth be told. So it hurt. Even though he knew all along, it still hurt.

 

Merlin was sitting beneath his favourite oak tree by the training field, flexing his magic only gently, twirling the leaves and the flowers, making shapes and simple patterns. Arthur came and sat beside him, still in his chainmail (but that wasn't his responsibility anymore) and Merlin couldn't help but notice the distance. It wasn't much of a distance, but Merlin noticed it anyway.

Arthur gestured towards the dancing flowers and leaves with a cocked eyebrow and Merlin waited for the teasing, to be told he was such a girl like all those times before. Instead, Merlin didn't feel like playing with them anymore, so he lowered his hand and they came fluttering down to join the rest of them, damp and brittle. Arthur only sighed. Merlin was being selfish, he knew, but he really couldn't look at Arthur just then. It just wasn't in him.

Merlin remembered a time when silence between them was a rare thing. He remembered spending lazy spring mornings in the gardens, head in Arthur's lap while Arthur read to him, something he loved to do but seldom had the chance to. He remembered, long ago, planting himself at Arthur's dining table to polish his sword while Arthur looked over some kind of reports, fire casting shadows from the fireplace, perfectly quiet and homely. But really, they only ever laughed, and shouted, and argued, and laughed some more. They teased, and they threw things, and they fought and they made up behind closed curtains. Silence was a rare thing.

Arthur cleared his throat, and soon enough it was happening. He never meant to hurt him. He cared for him more than he could ever understand. He always would. He thanked Merlin for making him happy. He asked him to not leave, please, don't leave. He asked Merlin to look at him. He asked him to say something, anything. He hoped Merlin could forgive him. And he left.

And, see, Merlin- he knew it all along. He knew that Arthur, for all his wisdom, all his early maturity and for all that rested on his shoulders, he was still the son of a man with the very highest expectations and a boy without his mother.

And Arthur- all those years ago, Arthur was young and adventurous and so very sheltered.

And Merlin, for a while, he was new. And then he wasn't. But then he was a comfort. Always there, loyalty never wavering. Stable. Convenient. But never in a bad way. Just- convenient.

And that's how it happened. It was pretty simple, really. Merlin always thought they were simple enough, that there was nothing much complicated about them. He only felt that it was right. That's all he'd ever felt. 

But see, Merlin- he also knew from the start, despite how much he'd hoped, and screamed at the trees, and no matter how tightly he'd held him in his arms, that Arthur wouldn't be his forever.


End file.
